


Let's make ours a story with no end

by ComeBackToTheValley



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Work In Progress, main pairing is Elrond/Thranduil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeBackToTheValley/pseuds/ComeBackToTheValley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A thousand and one nights with you is not enough to spend/So let's make ours a story with no end..."</p><p>The end has come, but their story is just beginning.  Spanning the Ages and beyond, short glimpses into a lasting friendship that grew into something more.</p><p>Will contain canon compliant as well as AU chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Last Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime before Elrond's departure to Valinor. One way or another, this is their last goodbye.

In the cool of the evening, there was silence. They sat together, one dark head on the other’s shoulder, loose arms limply draped round the other’s back. All that could be said had been, if not all that needed to be. It was an old and weary device that would have no encore, for farewells were bitter enough without the sting of dispute.

_“Why must you go? There is life here in Middle Earth yet!”_

_“Do not make this any more difficult for me! Do you think I am so eager to leave my home and my children? I would not go if I could.”_

_“Then don’t.”_

There was so little time now, and what an irony that was. So long they had known each other, yet so short a time did they have, and now that too was drawing to its end. But that was their curse, was it not, that farewells should be their lot, and all bonds be sundered?

_“Do you remember the first time we met?”_

_“Yes, I thought you were a proud, stuck-up prick who was far too vain for his own good.”_

_“The feeling was entirely mutual.”_

It had not been love at first sight. It had not been love at second sight. It had not been love for many, many years, Ages of this world. There had been others and there was no regret there.

_“Go. Be with your wife. This is what you have been waiting for all these years, isn’t it?”_

_“Do not start this again, you know what I feel-“_

_“I do. I know. And I’m telling you to go be with her. These long years I have seen you clinging to her memory. Let her be memory no more. We were but a dream, and now it is time to wake up.”_

Too many memories, good and bad, of days gone by and friends once known. Was it too much to ask that something remained, something firm and lasting, meant to endure beyond the Ages as more than a thought? Yes, it probably was.

_“You could come with me. Take the ship into the West. We need not be merely a remembrance of happy times gone by.”_

_“You know my answer. I will not. I cannot. My home is here. My people are here. My life is here. There is nothing for me in Valinor, no one to await my coming, no one to go for.”_

_“There is me.”_

The stars began fading and the sky started to glow with the first peeking of the sun. Neither dared to speak, hardly to breathe. One way or another, this was the last goodbye they would ever say ‘til all the world was changed and the long Ages turned to dust with all hopes and fears and promises. And what then? What words were left to be said, what vain oaths were there to be made? What should last beyond the end of everything that was and is and ever should be?

_“I love you.”_

_“I love you too.”_

No vows, no regrets, no wishes. Let the truth stand as their farewell.

(And maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much)


	2. We go together, you and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil's thoughts on some common misconceptions regarding the King of Greenwood and the Lord of Imladris

He has heard people call them ‘Night and Day,’ different as could be. One warm, inviting, patient, peaceful, the other cold, aloof, rash and hot tempered. Like a soothing summer breeze and an icy winter blast, or the blazing sun and the distant moon.

He laughs at the fools. What do they know but the folly of their undiscerning eyes?

He has heard others call them ‘Two of a kind.’ They are ancient and wise, mighty warriors and great leaders of their realms. They are remnants of a bygone Age and a bygone people, yet are recognized even by their foes as great powers in this time.

He laughs even harder at the blatant flatterers. They listen to old stories and claim expertise on the basis of deducing generalities! Two of a kind indeed!

No, none of these dimwits with their black-and-white labels and their inexplicable desire to categorize everything have actually got anything remotely resembling a clue. They, stuck in their ideas of ‘opposites’ and ‘same,’ cannot fathom the idea that there is anything else to a relationship, of whatever sort. They cannot understand that a little something exists called ‘ _complimentary_.’

Yes, that is the word. They are most definitely not the same, praise Eru. Neither are they complete opposites. They have similarities, true, and differences, but are not defined by them. What they are is _fitting_. Like two pieces in a puzzle, they alone do not fulfill each other, but add to the completeness as a whole. They are not the same, yet when put together, they are so right.

Together, they match. They fill the missing gaps in each other’s life. Whatever one needs, the other provides, be it wisdom, comfort, love, or a foil. They challenge each other to be better than they are, and share the other’s burdens when their failings overcome them. They are what the other needs while still being their own persons.

The same? No, there was no such thing as two people exactly the same in every way, and that is a good thing. Completely different? No, not entirely. It was their similarities that allowed them to empathize, and their differences that allowed them to fit. They are complimentary, as friends and as more. No matter what the situation, in good times, bad times, and everything in between, they go together. They _belong_ together. Praise Eru, they are together.

He dreads the day that can no longer be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize Thranduil comes across as a little harsh here, but I feel he is the sort of person to have very little tolerance for people who leap to conclusions without deeper research. So no offence intended, apologies to anyone feeling insulted, this is just how I feel his character would react to certain perceptions on relationships, and is not meant as an attack of any kind on different views about pairings, romantic or otherwise.


	3. This love is so real and it's no surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Precisely why assumptions are a risky thing to make, as the students of Lindon High learn one eventful lunch...
> 
> Modern high school AU, all characters human.

It was a fact that Thranduil Erlkönig was the most popular student at Lindon High.  This was not a disputable fact.  Everyone just _knew_ it _._   And to be honest, it wasn’t exactly that hard to figure out.  Who else was practically perfect in every way?  Ok sure, he was a bit snobbish sometimes and he could be quite harsh when he got well and truly annoyed, but that could usually be overlooked in favour of his frankly stunning looks, razor-sharp mind, athletic prowess, and confident personality.

Sadly though, for most of his fan club, he’d never once cast an amorous look at _anyone,_ and showed more interest in ousting Ereinion Gil-Galad as school president than romantic endeavors.

It was a slightly lesser known yet still prevalent fact that Elrond Peredhil was what one might deem a loner.  It wasn’t that he was a bad guy, but he just never really fit into anyone’s circle.  Everyone knew _of_ him (how could they _not_ , considering who his family was?), but no one actually knew him.  Besides, after his brother had transferred out to that fancy new boarding school out in the middle of God knew where, he’d avoided practically everyone, and if Gil-Galad didn’t make a point of dragging him into conversations whenever he could, most people forgot he was even there.

Hardly surprisingly, it was highly doubted he’d ever even have some form of social life, much less a significant other.

Given these facts, it never even crossed most people’s minds that the two might ever exchange more than a cursory acknowledgement in the hallways every so often.  After all, they were about as different as you could get.  Thranduil was the social magnate of the school, of a respectable family, the lofty kind from whom you got the impression that they were perpetually looking down at you.  Elrond was the more down-to-earth type that generally kept himself to himself, the mysterious sort from dubious families of whom you were rather glad that they didn’t come too near.

At this point, it would be typical to say that everything changed one day with an unusual event, which would not be an untrue statement in this case.  The whole peculiar affair began one Monday at lunch when Thranduil Erlkönig waved off his usual crowd of lunch mates, crossed the cafeteria, and plonked himself down on the seat right beside Elrond Peredhil, who paid absolutely zero attention to this unexpected turn of events and continued reading his book.

“Heeeeeyyyyy.” Thranduil said, leaning dramatically against his side.  He was unceremoniously shoved off without comment “What’re you reading this time?”

Just as he ignored the gapes and whispers around him, so he was also ignored.  He switched tactics, and poked him in the side with one long, bony finger.  Elrond casually swatted his hand aside, eyes still fixed on the page.  Thranduil did not pout.  He had never pouted in his life.  He merely expressed some annoyance in a mature and dignified fashion as befitting of his station.

“Are you going to keep ignoring me?” he asked, restarting his poking campaign.  A look of mild irritation crossed Elrond’s face.

“Yes.” he said shortly.  Thranduil was delighted at the response.

“Why, can’t you take your nose out of a book for five minutes?  What could possibly be more fascinating than me?”

“Many things.”

“What’re you reading, _A Study in Runes_ by Pengolodh?  Is it really that fascinating?”

“Yes.”

“Runes though, how can dusty old runes possibly be more interesting than _moi_?”

“Easily.”

“Wow, someone’s a grump today.”

“No.”

“Then why are you responding in one word sentences?”

“I’m not.”

“Ha ha, very funny.  Are you going to put that down or am I going to have to stage an intervention?”

“Don’t you dare.  Thranduil!”

Thranduil had snatched the book out of his hands and was now waving it above his head.  Had one not witnessed the prior conversation, the scene might actually appear normal in its setting: the popular kid taunting the school recluse.  Yet the only malice evident here was the very probable murder of Thranduil if Elrond could not reclaim his tome through relatively non-violent means.

“If you want it, come and claim it!  If you can reach it, that is.”

“Thranduil, give it back right now or I swear to God-“

“What, you’ll bluster at me with one word expletives?  Ooh, I’m so scared.”

“I’m warning you, give that back!”

“Hey, all you gotta do is get it yourself.  You might need a stepladder though.”

“Just because you’re abnormally tall-“

“Excuse you, I’m the perfect height, you’re just short-“

“You do realize who I was raised by, I know a dozen ways to put you in hospital at the very least-“

“You’ll never hurt me, you love me too much.”

“You’re severely testing that limitation right now, give the book back-”

“ _Make me_.”

And to the sheer astonishment of all present, he met this challenge by kissing Thranduil full on the lips, a kiss that was enthusiastically reciprocated.  The moment that Thranduil lowered his arm though to wrap it around him, Elrond neatly snatched the book back and broke the kiss.  In another unbelievable sight, Thranduil actually _pouted,_ in the most undignified manner one could possibly do so.

“That was sneaky.” he complained.

“You took my book.” Elrond said calmly, already cracking it back open and searching for his lost page.

“Yes, but that was a _fantastic_ kiss you interrupted…for a book!”

“That I was reading.”

“Are you saying that reading is more interesting than kissing me?  I’m shocked.  Clearly you do not know how to appreciate my excellent skills in the art of affection.  This must be rectified immediately.”

“…You’re not going to stop bothering me, are you?”

“Nope.”

“You’re going to keep this up until I kiss you again, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

Elrond sighed deeply and snapped his book shut with an air of exasperated resignation.  For the second time, he turned to Thranduil and kissed him.  This time, their audience was somewhat more prepared and had their phones out snapping pictures and taking video.  At the first click of a camera shutter though, Thranduil stopped the kiss (with noticeable regret) and climbed up onto the table.

“Hello everyone, I’m sure you’re all enjoying this immensely, and no doubt you’ll all want to tell everyone everything as soon as possible, but if you’ll pay attention to me for a few minutes, I’d hate for any false impressions to get spread about and turn into nasty rumours, wouldn’t you?”

His tone was amicable but his smile was full of teeth and did not quite reach his eyes.  Those paying attention decided it was in their best interests to quickly murmur their agreement.

“So here we are, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Thranduil, this is Elrond, I love him, he loves me, and no, we’re not gay.  Please behave like decent, intelligent beings, if that’s not too much to ask.  And that is all he or I going to say on the subject because really, this is no concern of yours, we just want to make things crystal clear for so that there is no future confusion about us.  Thank you for your attention, you may return to your business.  _Now_.”

Such was the influence he held that though there were still gawkers aplenty, they became marginally more discrete.  He waited until he saw the vast majority of heads turn away before stepping down, the corners of his lips turned up in an extremely smug smirk.  Elrond was distinctly unimpressed.

“Do you always have to be so dramatic?”

“You know you love me.”

“I often question my sanity in that, but I suppose I do.”

“Absolutely.”

This would stereotypically have been the perfect time for another kiss, and they were in fact about to indulge in the moment, except they were stereotypically interrupted by Ereinion Gil-Galad shouting from the next table, “Get a room, you two!”  In a perfectly synchronized move, they turned and flipped him off.

“Screw you, Gil-Galad!” Thranduil threw in for good measure.

“But aren’t you already busy with someone else?” Ereinion said wickedly.

Thranduil did not win the school election that year nor the year after that, but he did win the Cafeteria Fight, as the incident would come to be known (the students of Lindon High were not known for their originality or creativity).  Thanks to an enterprising photographer, it was forever immortalized in the yearbook: a lovely shot of Thranduil wearing the remains of a yogurt cup but quite determinedly pinning Ereinion on the ground and dumping the contents of a milk carton down his shirt.  If some dignity was lost, this small peek into the ordinary humanity of even the lofty won both more favour than a clever battle of words (though not quite enough for Thranduil to steal the vote).

Yet if one only bothered to turn the page, any doubts of mortality could have instantly been swept away by a simple photo, tucked into a page corner, a millisecond turned into eternity.  No painter could have better captured that precious moment before a kiss that never was, no poet could have expressed that all encompassing look which spoke a thousand things without a word.  It was the rhapsody of romantics and the longing of dreamers, the devotion of promises and the passion of lovers.  Truth and sincerity met the strength of a certainty, and though neither knew what tomorrow would bring, come heartbreak, come ruin, come the binding of rings, right now, in this moment, everything that they feel is potent and endless and fervent and _real_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification, as fitting with my headcanons to date, Elrond is bisexual and Thranduil is demisexual.
> 
> I will probably write a prequel for this AU sometime in the future about how they actually got together. I am 76% sure it will happen, and 100% sure that I don't know when, but I like this AU and I want to expand it. Probably a prequel (featuring Elros? Maglor and Maedhros? Oropher?!), maybe a sequel, definitely a few drabbles here and there, all likely in the distant future. This chapter, and others, will also likely be re-edited at some point in the future as my writing experience grows.
> 
> Title of this chapter from 'Best Years of Our Lives' by Baha Men.


	4. It's better not to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oropher's views on Thranduil and his puzzling friend.
> 
> Modern AU, separate from the previous chapter.

He knew his son better than anyone in the world.

He knew that his son was dignified and cool in public, but fawned over small creatures when no one was looking.  He knew that his son could hold a grudge for even longer than he could, yet a bowl of raspberries left outside his room during one of his moods would be returned empty the next morning by a considerably less grumpy hand.  He knew that his son tended more to his own concerns than that of others, but would give to helpless strangers he met on the street.  He knew that his son was brusque and practical, and yet there was nothing but tenderness when he cradled new life in his hands.

He knew that he preferred warm days to cold ones, that a winter’s day would find him bundled up in sweaters and blankets, regally sipping his Horlicks.  He knew that he hated philosophy but signed up for the course anyway just for the pleasure of debating with the teacher, and that he’d given up political sciences, which he actually liked, because he thought the instructor was an idiot.  He knew that though the sleek gleam of silver and white pleased him, it was the vibrant green of a budding leaf that brought the real smile to his lips.

He knew that for all his fierceness and temper, he loved peace like his pride.  He knew that for all his pride, he still felt himself so small in a big world.  He knew that his trust was hard-gained and easily lost, that he received others warily and gave of himself rarely.  He knew he craved affection, yet would allow none to give it to him.  He knew too that was his fault, that raising him to grow up so soon cost more than he could ever regret. 

He knew his son well.  Though to all else, his son’s face might seem like an impenetrable mask, to him it was an open book.  He could always tell what he was thinking or feeling.  Sometimes, if he put a bit of effort into it, he could even predict what he would do or say in the given situation.  His son was constant, reliable, unsurprising in almost everything.

 _Almost_ everything.

There was one thing that defied explanation.  One thing that caused his dependable, familiar son to break all patterns of predictability and act precisely like his tempestuous peers, fickle in mood and temperament and deeds.  One thing that he struggled to understand, that defied his reasoning, an unknown variable in the set equation of his son’s life.  One thing, or rather, one person.

Where had it all started?  The first day of school perhaps, when he’d gone to pick up one well-behaved child and instead left with a messy, dirty hooligan with a bandage on one knee, who proudly proclaimed he’d been climbing that really tall tree in the playground and he’d gotten almost halfway up before the teacher came.  And when he’d inquired why he had felt the need to do that, his son had merely lifted his head proudly and said something about a dare.  A dare! 

It didn’t end there.  A week later, having apparently forgotten his father’s lectures on appropriate behavior in public, he was reliably informed by the teacher that his son was one of several instigators in an impromptu paint war that had taken place that day.  A thorough questioning of his wayward offspring resulted only in a stubborn ‘He started it!’ with no explanation of who ‘he’ was.

The next week, it was pulling faces at others.

The week after, it was rowdiness at play time.

Enough was enough.  He had to find out what was causing this wild behavior.  A stern ‘Sit-down-young-man-we-need-to-have-a-little-talk-about-your-behavior’ later, he had a name and reason.  The name was Elrond, and the reason was that he was the only child in the class who had the nerve to question, no, _challenge_ , Thranduil on anything.

Well, if it was just a matter of pride, that was easily handled.  A little talk about not rising to the bait, surely his son was mature enough to understand that.  He had been so confident that would be the end of the matter.

How wrong he had been!  The confrontations turned into devastating verbal affairs (or as devastating as a pair of four year olds could be).  The teacher didn’t know whether to scold them for fighting or praise them for having such an extensive and creative vocabulary.  All the talks in the world did nothing.  His son’s pride had been challenged, and there was no way he was going to back down now.

(The fact that he would have done the exact same thing was not lost on him)

(He’d also never admit it, but his son’s idea of an injured scowl was rather adorable)

It continued much the same for the next few years.  His son would come home either head held high from a victory that day or glowering at everything in sight from having lost the daily battle of will.  They went through many bowls of raspberries during those years…

Then one ordinary day in the third grade, his son had hopped into the car after school, chin lifted high and a self-satisfied smirk on his face, dragging with him an equally pleased dark haired boy.

“Hello Father, this is Elrond, can he come over today?” he said as if it were a regular occurance “He thinks Daeron’s new CD is rubbish and I have to show him different.”

“I didn’t say it was rubbish, I just said it wasn’t as good as Maglor’s.” Elrond protested.

“You’re just saying that because you know the guy.  Trust me, Daeron is _way_ better.”

“Please, all he’s got is good vocals.  Maglor can actually _play_ his instruments.”

“Your taste is as poor as your argument.”

“You only start degenerating to personal attacks when you know I’m right.”

Of all the things in the world that he did not understand, this was one of them.  How could his son’s infamous rival suddenly be in the backseat of his car, having been invited to his house by his son, with whom he was now having an argument about music, of all things?  Try as he might, he never did discover exactly how that came to be, only that it involved the mutual distaste of a substitute teacher (who incidentally quit his job the very next day, leading him to believe that the two events might possibly be connected).

They were friends for all of two weeks, practically joined at the hip, then all of a sudden, they weren’t.  His son came storming home one afternoon in the middle of what was supposed to be a play date and announced that he was done with stupid people too stupid to recognize when he was right.

Three days later, having marched around with what was intended to be a thunderous expression for the past few days, he knocked on the window of his car when he came to pick him up after school and informed him, regal as you please, that he was going over to Elrond’s house and he could pick him up there in a few hours, thank you very much.

Was it then that he had given up trying to understand the boy who turned his son into such a strange creature?  From their limited contact, he’d seemed like any regular child, with a mind of his own and selectively deaf ears.  What was it about him that caused such uncharacteristic changes in his son?  He was thoroughly an ordinary child, the most of which could be said was that he was bold enough to daily challenge Thranduil and apparently clever enough to back that challenge up.  Still, that couldn’t be it.  His son was above these things, he could obliterate anyone who tried to have a go at him.  Why did he allow himself to indulge in this petty bantering?

This pattern of friends then not then friends again lasted well into high school.  After the tenth or so time, he stopped keeping count or trying to advise his son on his choice of acquaintances.  He did have other friendships after all, it wasn’t as if his social life revolved around one person.  They just didn’t seem to be quite as… _erratic_ as this one.  He’d terminate relationships that displeased him without hesitation, yet how many times had he declared their friendship over and then made up several days later?  He rarely let his other friends see him as anything other than composed and in control, but with Elrond, he was relaxed, even natural.  What was it?  What was the attraction?  They were too similar not to clash and too different to get along.  He couldn’t make heads or tails out of it.  What was going on?

Then came a hot summer’s day, one year before Thranduil was to graduate high school.  It was boiling outside, the sun blazing so fervently he could swear it was trying to extinguish all life on earth.  Home from work early and eager to cool down in front of the refrigerator, he  headed round to the back door and was just about to step through when he caught sight of his son standing in the kitchen.  This would hardly be worth noting, were it not for the fact that he was verypassionately kissing someone who was very passionately kissing him back. 

Even his son in a romantic relationship was nothing new, he had had casual dates and slightly more serious dates alike before.  But he had always behaved with the utmost decorum, keeping any amorous activities private and in the appropriate places.  He certainly did not ‘make out’ in places where he could be easily caught.  There could only be one reason for this kind of conduct, one person for whom none of the usual ever applied.

He unlocked the door and opened it as loudly as he could without seeming like he was throwing a tantrum.  What his son got up to with who he pleased was his business so long as he was doing it safely and _not in public areas of the house_.  This definitely violated the latter, so he felt no guilt whatsoever in the panicked faces that hurriedly broke apart at the sight of him.

“In the future, I would prefer if you keep any such activities confined to your bedroom.” he said sternly, biting back a laugh at their expressions.  Two faces turned very pink.

“I…ah, _we_ …yes, _we_ were not doing…that.” his son said eloquently “I mean, that is, no, we weren’t doing _that._   Yes.”

He must not laugh.  He must not laugh.  He must not laugh.  It _was_ quite amusing to see his son, always quick-on-the-draw, mortified at being caught with his…partner?  Boyfriend?  Lover?  He didn’t know the specifics, but he did know that how he reacted was more important than anything. 

“I would also prefer that, should you choose to go any further, you make sure you use suitable protection.” he said, struggling to contain his amusement as pink cheeks turned to outright red.

“Dad!” his son cried, dropping all formality.  He finally gave in and let loose a chuckle, relishing the astonished faces before him.  Their confusion was palpable and, if he had to admit it, rather enjoyable.  But he allowed himself the luxury of only a few seconds of merriment, quickly composing himself before he went overboard and caused insult.  He looked his son straight in the eye, trying to convey everything he wanted to say but couldn’t: reassurance, acceptance, care, love, all the things he wanted, _needed_ , him to know but could never say out loud.

“I’m not joking about what I said, but what you get up to in your own time is your business.” he said “I trust you to have the good judgement and sense to know what to do.  Or who.”

His son did not say anything, but the corners of his eyes softened and his stance relaxed and he _knew._

“I feel like a walk, what about you?” his son said instead to his partner in crime.

“…Sure.” Elrond said, confusion plain in his face if not his voice “Want to grab a bite after?” 

“Alright.  I won’t be back for dinner, Father.” his son said, one last note of hesitation and disbelief in his eyes. 

“Enjoy yourselves.” he said simply, and was rewarded with the very slightest upturn of his son’s lips.

He let them go in peace, noticing the way they looked at each other and how their hands clasped together so, and he knew that if they didn’t strangle one another first, they could probably make something serious out of this.  For the briefest of moments, he had a flickering vision of two old, wrinkled hands, still holding onto each other just so, and then he shook his head and the vision was gone.  No need to think _that_ far ahead yet.  For all he knew, this was a summer romance and would be over before autumn came, or it could last a year, two, five, or ten.  There were a lot of things he didn’t know and couldn’t know and wouldn’t know and that was alright.  As long as his son was safe and happy and loved, he didn’t need to know all the details.

Considering just how enthusiastic the little encounter he’d walked in on had been, he _definitely_ didn’t need to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wanted to write a piece showing a different view of Oropher than we usually get. It's canon that he's impulsive and proud, but I don't think that makes him a 'bad person' or at any rate, the poor father he is often depicted as. Like all parents, he's not perfect, but I do believe he loves his son and tries his best. So less ship-heavy this chapter and more focused on familial bonds.


End file.
